


#1 Crush.

by kurotsuno



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Deities, Delusions, Devotion, M/M, Pining, Stalking, Worship, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurotsuno/pseuds/kurotsuno
Summary: I will crawl on hands and knees until you seeYou're just like me
Relationships: Aoba Tsumugi/Sakasaki Natsume
Kudos: 22





	#1 Crush.

Natsume Sakasaki isn’t human. Tsumugi knows he isn’t. He’s never explicitly stated otherwise, no, but he isn’t stupid. Maybe he doesn’t understand everything, but he’s never been more sure. It’s a pounding in his chest, in his head, that reminds him.

He’s absolutely mesmerised by his underclassmen. Those leonine eyes, the way they stare daggers into him. They glint and encapsulate his entire being. Behind the reflection, he knows, lies much more. They shone upon the bathing noonlight like a refreshing glass of lemonade, like the finest chunk of topaz. The gateway to another realm.

His elegant, simple movements prove further. His fingers drag along the surface of what he touches, as if leaving sparks behind to fizzle. His petite wrists flick with every lingering stride, as if a ballerina. Nothing compares to the way his delicate frame flexes during practice, intoxicating Tsumugi with every dipping arch of his spine.

His tone is drizzled in honey, whether he’s purring adorations to his fans, or barking profanities to him. Even with the growl of his irritation, his voice is melodic. Repeating over and over, through his own earbuds, Tsumugi hums. A silver and a gold-skinned mp3 player— how often did he habitually find himself recording their discussions?

Tsumugi knows he shouldn’t be like this, deep down. Somewhere, inside himself, he recognizes this isn’t right; this isn’t _him._

But he can’t help it. Natsume _is_ otherworldly, someone on a completely different level than him. He’d get on hands and knees and clasp his hands, shake them, praise his name to anyone willing to listen.

Tsumugi believed in luck, in good fortune, but what good were gods to him before? This was different. Natsume was potential he witnessed foster, maybe even daresay had an influence on.

A collage snipped crudely on his wall, pictures taken when Natsume wouldn’t spare him a glance, hang above his headboard. Everynight, on hands and knees, uttering all his dreams, all of his thankfulness to this smorgageboard of imagery. 

He knows he’s listening.

_He knows he can never be ignored._


End file.
